Blooded
by CAKEMAN
Summary: The deed is done. Erestor has betrayed Elrond's dirty little secret. How will Figwit cope with this new horror, if e'er he copes at all? And what will the others think? This tragic story about... hey, maybe you should read HIS LORDSHIP first!
1. Aftermath

_Author's notes for Blooded—I'm glad that I've finally had the chance to work on the sequel to His Lordship. I've gotten a few requests that I make a story that shows what happens to Figwit and the others, and I have to admit that I'd given it a bit of thought myself. However, I must tell you that Blooded, being in its very nature a sequel, will not be of the best quality. So please bear with the shoddy plotline as even I, the author, have no idea where this story will lead, how it will end, or if it will even be resolved.  
  
I have to thank my li'l sis and her best friend, Wynter, Stardust60, Kleine Snowdrop, Erestor, GoblinBrat, and nevvy, for spurring me on. And I hafta wonder, where's miss ElfCakes? I'd like some of her sage advice (honestly!)  
  
Also, a note on the opening sentence of the final paragraph of this first chapter; it's a quote from a book called Wieland, by Charles Brockden Brown. It's one of America's first novels, and it's a darn good read at that—about a man and his disembodied voice, a beautiful young maiden, a depraved lunatic... y'know, stuff like that. You should read it; I hope to be the first person to publish a fanfic about it someday!  
  
Well, enjoy! Hope I didn't bore you to death!  
  
Kid Frock  
_  
Figwit stumbled into his room and closed the door. His eyes were filled with hot tears, his heart and mind with despair and confusion. He had so many questions, and he couldn't begin to sort them out. After a few painful minutes of whimpering to himself, his mental turmoil gave way to a fitful, restless sleep full of violent dreams.  
  
Downstairs in his office Lord Elrond's mind and body had finally given themselves over to the sedating effect of the miruvor. He was slumped over his desk, still clutching his empty wineglass. Like his son, Elrond was inflicted with a million terrible thoughts, memories, and images. The incident with Erestor and Malfanaion was played over and over behind Elrond's eyes, and each time the aftermath became more and more tragic. The wineglass in the anguished Elf-Lord's hand cracked in his tightening grip, threatening to shatter.  
  
As these two Elves, so alike in both suffering and traits, were suffering the repercussion of revelation, Erestor still walked the halls unscathed. He prowled into the dining hall, as a tiger would make his way to the watering hole. Coolly stalking past the few Elves that were in there, he made his way to the hearth and sat down in a chair, ignoring the presence of all others.  
  
All eyes were upon Erestor, as he sat watching the embers give off the last of their heat and light. All of the Elves that were in Rivendell proper at the time knew something was going on; some had even heard Lord Elrond's outburst, or had seen Figwit run down the hall with a shameful lack of composure. Anyone who'd lived in Rivendell for even a short amount of time knew it wasn't beyond Erestor to have caused such a commotion. They would also know that Elrond wasn't normally given to such fits of rage.  
  
What had Erestor done, that he had driven his Lordship to the brink of ferocity? Everyone could guess where that gash on his face had come from, after all. All present wanted to know, but none were so foolish as to ask. An air of oppressive silence filled the room, and Erestor had neither to speak to nor glance menacingly at those who would dare break his silence.  
  
As for Erestor, he continued to stare into the fire. His prickly demeanor had waned with the setting of the moon and the coming of dawn. People came and went, going about their business, doing what might need doing afore the crack of dawn. The embers were dead, grey cold things that would blow away with a small breeze, and Erestor's all-consuming wrath had given way to chill contemplation.  
  
But "time will obliterate the deepest impressions." Even Figwit, whose last waking desire was to never open his eyes again, had found strength to awaken at the bidding of his friends.  
  
_Tsuzuku..._


	2. Back to the Front

"Hey Fig', wake up!"  
  
Figwit's eyes were still sealed shut; his body refused to wake up completely so soon after his regaining consciousness. But his mind did register that someone was speaking to him and shaking him.  
  
"He's probably dead—ouch! Whuzzat for?!"  
  
"Don't even kid that way, Glorfindel! He might get bad ideas!"  
  
Figwit had sat up by then, and rubbed his eyes. He opened them, and found that he was in his bed, though still in his clothes; his best friend Meorof, and his somewhat less amicable friend Glorfindel, were both sitting at his bedside.  
  
Sunlight filtered in through Figwit's single, tiny window, over his bedroll and the cold stone floor. One more glance at his friends revealed to Figwit the depth of their fretfulness; Meorof, a rather goofy-looking Elf as it were, had a fake smile pasted on his face as he waited for his sleepy friend to say something. Glorfindel had no such expression of eagerness, but Figwit could tell that he was worried.  
  
He and Glorfindel didn't get along famously; Figwit hated Glorfindel's air of superiority, and the both of them would try to one-up the other in their childhood. But their contention was only skin-deep; they both grew up together and knew how to play nice when they needed to. "You slept through most of the day," he said simply, a gesture of concern in disguise.  
  
Indeed, Figwit had overslept; his head throbbed with a headache, and he didn't feel in the least bit rested. On the contrary, memories of last night's conversation with Erestor, and what he could recollect from his nightmares, were advancing slowly to the front line of his thoughts. He stumbled out of bed, staggering past Meorof and Glorfindel without so much as a word to them.  
  
"Wait!" Meorof rushed over to block the doorway. "What happened? You look dead, man."  
  
Figwit stood there and stared blankly through Meorof. He himself wasn't entirely sure what had transpired. He looked down and mumbled under his breath, more for the sake of making noise than of actually communicating.  
  
"C'mon Fig', talking helps." Meorof looked at Figwit, and then shot an annoyed glance at Glorfindel. "Why're you here? He doesn't need you to bother him!"  
  
Glorfindel glared back at Meorof. "I'm not gonna bother him! I said I was worried, didn't I?"  
  
Figwit disregarded their squabbling, though later he was very touched by their concern. He sighed and gently brushed past Meorof, mumbling "don' wanna talkaboudit," or something along those lines. He walked out into the hall, despite his friends' pleas, and out towards the heath that was just over the precipice.  
  
He walked across the field for about a half-hour or so, until he got to a large slab of granite that jutted out of the earth at an angle, and sat in its shade. This was where he went since childhood when he wanted to be alone, or when he wanted to cry without Erestor finding and scolding him. Right now, Figwit sat with his knees drawn to his chest, as a partridge nearby led its young into a nearby copse, out of the sun's rays. He stared into space, with no tears to cry; the reality of last night still hadn't set in. Last night his mind had been a swirling torrent of pain and confusion, with too many thoughts for the young Elf to sort out.  
  
What Erestor had told him must have been the truth, however distorted it might have been. But it still didn't make sense to Figwit. How could Elrond have been so deceitful, to a child no less? Wasn't this the same Elrond who saw straight through the lies of Sauron himself, and had risen above the rabble (as far as High Elves go) that was his people, and had become one of the greatest leaders of all time?  
  
Of course, even Elrond couldn't be perfect. No one was without vice, isn't that what Erestor would always tell Figwit? But this was an act of selfishness, of cowardice, of blatant duplicity, putting him on the same level as Maeglin, traitor of Gondolin. Elrond did it all to preserve his station in life.  
  
No, it just didn't sound right! It was just too indecent a thing for Elrond to have done!  
  
Oh, but that was just it, wasn't it? Who would suspect him of such a thing, what with the way he'd so artfully hidden this secret from everyone but his close associates. His deceit was perfectly executed, and to this day, neither Elrond's wife nor his in-laws suspected a thing. But everything else he'd done was so lofty, so noble, that the Elrond described by Erestor seemed a different being altogether.  
  
Again, Erestor's teachings came to mind. Was Fëanor, the one who led the Noldor to spill the blood of their Teleri brethren, thus putting them for many generations out of the favor of the Valar, not also a great leader? Did not Elu Thingol, a rash and sharp-tongued fool, rule over one of the greatest of his people's kingdoms before he brought about his own demise?  
  
It was all played out in Figwit's mind, as though he was a child again and was sitting in Erestor's classroom once more. Erestor would deflate Figwit's silly, naïve notions with a few of life's hard facts without even trying, it seemed. Things always seemed more dreary and unnerving when Erestor described them. His history lessons would keep the attention of the little boys with their gory detail, though Figwit couldn't help but feel that he was listening to one long tragedy. "Existence is suffering, boy," Erestor would often say to him. "You would do well to remember that."  
  
Before he knew it, Figwit was asleep, curled up under the granite slab. The sun made him drowsy, and the heather made a comfortable bed of itself for the diminutive Elf, as he entered once more into his unpleasant dreams.  
  
_Tsuzuku..._


	3. Peace Attendeth Him Not

_Author's notes for _Peace Attendeth Him Not—

Huttah!

I finally got around to writing that darn third chapter, and it's lookin' pretty good for a sequal. This is where things start to leak, and it's also where I introduce two of my most favorite Elves--Elrohir and Elladan. Tell me what you think of them, but don't be upset if they seem a little... unorthodox.

Thanks to the people who supported this, and I promise I'll publish more soon!

* * *

"Elrohir my friend, what do you think Adar wishes to speak with us about?"

"Elladan my friend," Elrohir clapped his heavily gauntleted hand on his twin's shoulder and smirked, "what else could he possibly want with us, other than to nag at us again about going with him to the West?"

Elladan laughed and shook his head, "Ulmo save! I can hear him already," Elladan screwed up his face until he looked thoroughly constipated, thus making an eerily accurate impression of his father's visage. "'My sons, for how long shall you continue to forsake your calling as High Elves? The time has come for you to make a mature decision.' Translation —" and then he made like he was strangling some invisible person as his brother guffawed, "— 'WHEN ARE YOU GONNA STOP HANGING AROUND WITH YOUR HOODLUM DÚNEDAIN FRIENDS AND GROW UP? DON'T YOU _WANNA_ BE A TOTAL DIPWAD LIKE ME?! ARRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!"

Elrohir _would have_ fallen off of his horse with laughter (his keen sense of balance notwithstanding), but his eyes were fixed on a balled-up little Elf, fast asleep underneath a precariously angled slab of grayish granite. "Hey, isn't that the Fig'?"

Elladan dismounted and the two of them approached the sleeping Elf. "What's he doing out here?"

"I don't know." Elrohir kneeled by Figwit and found him to be breathing soundly. "He's just asleep, but he doesn't look well—as usual."

"Maybe Erestor finally chased him away..." Elladan's teasing demeanor ebbed when he saw the look of concern on Elrohir's face.

Elrohir shook his head and frowned as he touched Figwit's brow lightly, trying to discern the source of the young understudy's distress. "I think his angst may be legit this time, brother." He withdrew his hands and stood, his eyebrows still knit as he perused the bleak dreams and memories of Figwit. "Something has greatly disheartened and alarmed him, shaking him to the very core of his being... doing almost irreparable damage to his bearing in this world."

"What happened? Was it Erestor?"

"I do not know. I dare not delve so deep without the consent of our young friend." Elrohir's eyes narrowed as the chill wind picked up, swirling over the edge of the flat heath, and whipping into the valley of Rivendell in a downward spiral. "But I'd be a fool to think that this is not somehow his doing." He turned and headed for his horse, "Tell Dúnhere to come pick him up, and you guys take him down to Rivendell. I'll ride ahead of you and find out what I can."

Elladan looked down at Figwit, who shivered against the harsh wind, and then back at Elrohir. He managed a smirk and tapped his left temple with his finger. "Keep in touch, bro'."

Arwen sat with her father in his office, as he read a roll of parchment given to him by the emissary of some nearby village. The emissary hailed from a small town of no consequence, containing naught but a miniscule Human constituency, and had intended to negotiate the taxes paid yearly to Lord Elrond for protection.

"Father, you look troubled. What is wrong?" Indeed, something was wrong with him. He was wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday—he had fallen asleep in his office last night and had stayed that way until noon—and he looked rather disheveled. Even from across the room Arwen had smelled the alcohol working its way out of the Elf-Lord's body through his pores. When he didn't answer immediately, or even after a few minutes, Arwen gave up on him and was out the door when Elrohir came walking down the hall. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice way to greet your big bro'." he answered with a smile.

Arwen stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Elrohir, but Ada's been acting strangely, and—" she looked over his shoulder, "—where's Elladan?"

"He's with Figwit." He gently pushed himself loose from Arwen and removed his mantle as the two of them walked on, giving it to a passing servant with a quiet word of gratitude.

"Figwit? Why—"

"We found him sleeping on the moors, and we..." he dropped his voice, so that no one might overhear, "we sensed that something might be wrong." When that produced no reaction in his sister, he added, "this has much to do with Erestor, we believe."

"Erestor... I just don't understand him." What Arwen _really_ couldn't understand was why Erestor was so nice to her when he was nasty toward everyone else. He barely even had any respect for her father, though he sometimes managed to keep a reign on his tongue around him. It was as though he _thrived_ on chaos.

"Yeah, well try having him as your teacher."

"I did, and he wasn't so bad."

"You only say that because you didn't have so many lessons with him... on account of your being the weaker sex!"

Arwen scowled and took a lazy swing at Elrohir, and he backed away laughing. There was nothing the twins loved more than getting a rise out of their little sister.

But Elrohir abruptly stopped with his jests and stood still; listening to something that Arwen couldn't hear.

"What is it? Is he here?" Arwen looked at her brother anxiously. She knew about her brothers' gift, had known for as long as she could remember. But it still creeped her out to see them use it, to watch as their eyes went out of focus, to see that unnatural look of serenity.

"Yes, and Figwit's awake now." Elrohir sighed and ran a hand through his thick dark hair, "But he won't talk to Elladan or Dúnhere. And need I say that he refuses to be read? Whatever Erestor did to him, it was verily upsetting; he usually has no problem talking to us..."

They met Elladan and the others in the main courtyard. It was getting to be the middle of the afternoon, and there were few people about. When Arwen saw Figwit in the midst of his gloom, she initially looked down on him, as she was usually filled with supreme disdain for him. In her opinion, he was too downtrodden for her tastes, and whenever he talked to her, he always reminded her of a dog, crawling on his belly to lick his master's boots. But she felt guilty for thinking those things this time, and scolded herself for looking down on him. She had a blanket brought out to her, and she went over to where her brothers were standing with Figwit.

He looked up at her, and she saw sadness, confusion, and—shame, for some odd reason—in his eyes. He quickly looked away, as the tears fell once more.

"Figwit, here," she draped the blanket over his bowed back and spoke gently, much to his surprise—and much to the bewilderment of her brothers. "Why don't you come inside, and we'll get you something to eat. You seem so weary."

He mumbled a quiet thank-you, his face reddening slightly, and Elladan and Elrohir again exchanged incredulous looks.

_Arwen!_ She almost jumped when she heard Elrohir's voice ring out in her head, though she saw this coming. _What're you about?_

_Yeah,_ Elladan chimed in; _you'd better not be acting nice so you can nose about in his business!_

Arwen shot her brothers a dirty look, one that could not be paired with decent words. But all the same, she understood their accusations to be well founded. She never really cared about Figwit even though he treated her with such honor and affection, she realized with a pang of guilt. She shivered in spite of the warm sunshine, and guided Figwit into a cozy drawing room with a gentle arm around him. And she did nothing to discourage her brothers and Dúnhere from following (though the latter, it turned out, was instead heading to the Great Hall for some mead). _If you're listening, O brothers,_ she said quietly, _I shall prove to you that I'm not so black-hearted as you think!_

Figwit sat down in the far end of the room, away from the fire, with his knees drawn to his chest. He wrapped himself up in the blanket and pretended to be interested in the carpet on the floor.

"Figwit, tell us what happened." Elladan marched over to Figwit before his siblings could stop him.

"Elladan, don't be so rash!" Elrohir grabbed his shoulder to try and pull him away. "He's not ready—"

Elladan, ever the more impulsive of the two brothers, brushed Elrohir's hand away and turned Figwit's head, forcing him to look at him. "If you don't then we can't help you, and then who knows what else Erestor will do to you!"

"Oh, I didn't _do_ anything to him."

_Tsuzuku..._


	4. Another Know It All

Author's notes for _Another Know-It-All_:

This is what I get for publishing a chapter without proofreading--Erestor becomes redundant and boring, and Arwen mysteriously turns into a dude in the middle of the chapter.

Sorry about that. Now, moving on! Let our ancient performance begin... or something... (hurriedly bows out at the sound of the gong)

* * *

Everyone jumped at the sound of Erestor's voice. Though all present were young Elves with fine hearing, none of them detected his approach. He entered the room and closed the door behind him, shutting out the strong light of day.

Figwit's eyes grew wide as he watched Erestor approach him. The little Elf hugged his knees all the tighter and bit down hard on his lower lip, trying his best not to cry, but he really wanted nothing more than to run out of the house and flee into the woods.

But Elladan and Elrohir stood protectively before him, with no intention of letting Erestor near him. They glowered at Erestor as he stopped and regarded them inquiringly. "Well, boys," he said, "What have you to do with the affairs of this little one?"

Elladan clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, and would have said something very nasty to Erestor if Elrohir hadn't stepped forward and said calmly, "And where is _your_ hand in all this? He's greatly distressed—"

"—But he won't tell you why, and you're _so_ anxious to find out the dirty details, am I right?" He looked from Elrohir to volatile Elladan, and smirked. "I'm surprised that you haven't resorted to raping his mind to get your answers."

Elladan was on him in a second. He grabbed Erestor by the shirt, and roughly pulling the more slender elf down to eye-level. "We look into _no one's_ mind without their assent! If _anyone_ around here were so vile as to do such a thing, it would be _you_, darkest of conjurers!"

Elrohir made no move to stop his brother, but Arwen rushed over and took her brother's arm. "Elladan! Don't start, not here! We need to talk this out!"

Elladan dared not break eye contact with Erestor at first. He could see the gloating look in Erestor's eyes; hear the antagonistic challenge. _Go on; mind your sister like a good boy._ He could feel his anger, his hatred, rising with his blood pressure. All he had to do was take out his bowie knife, plunge it into Erestor's neck, and all of his troubles would be over. He pictured it in his mind with such clarity; he could see the look on Erestor's face, shock at the audacity of his former student, as he collapsed at Elladan's feet and watched his own life-blood—

"Elladan? Elladan!!"

Like being thrown into an icy river, Elladan was swiftly brought back to reality. He looked over his shoulder to see his siblings looking at him in confusion and—on Elrohir's part—concern. Elladan, realizing what had just transpired in those few seconds, looked back at Erestor with some trepidation.

Erestor certainly didn't look upset. On the contrary, he looked rather self-sure. Elladan dared to peer into his sensei's eyes, and knew immediately that he had played right into his hands. Defeated, he let go of Erestor and stalked out of the room, saying nothing to anyone.

Arwen started after him, but Elrohir held her back. "Let him go," he whispered, and he tentatively approached Erestor. "I apologize for my brother's actions; he is rash—"

Erestor ignored him. His eyes were fixed elsewhere, and he had a funny look on his face. Elrohir followed his gaze to see Arwen sitting down next to the cowering Figwit, whispering tender words of reassurance to him and pulling the blanket closer about his shoulders. Frowning, he looked back to see Erestor's fist clench, and to witness just the tiniest twitch of his eye.

"Master Erestor?" When Erestor still didn't respond, Elrohir glanced again at Arwen and Figwit to see what was so interesting.

Figwit, strangely enough, refused to look at Arwen, and recoiled at her touch. Elrohir knew, as did Arwen and Erestor, that under normal circumstances he would've fully given himself to enjoying such a rare show of affection from the lovely Elf-maiden. But why did he seem so unwilling to do so now?

Elrohir could only wonder, but when he saw the wry smirk on Erestor's face he knew that all would be explained presently—to the shame and ruination of Figwit. Wanting to avoid such a thing, he went and stood between Erestor and his quarry.

"No more games," he said, keeping his voice level but firm. "If you have something to say about Figwit, than pray thee, be forthright about it." If ever he learned anything useful from Golradir, it was his sense of dignity and self-command. "Verily, I do not wish for my friend's name to be shamed..." he looked straight into Erestor's eyes, yet he revealed none of his anger, "... and I trust that your sentiments are the same, sir." Diplomatic to the last, Elrohir managed a smile and motioned to a chair. "Please, do sit down, that we may hear what you have to say."

Arwen glanced quickly at Erestor, and seeing that Erestor's tumultuous designs were momentarily frustrated, she silently commended and thanked her brother for his tact. Figwit could only close his eyes and rest his head against his knees, for he realized that he was about to be found out.

After a moment's hesitation, Erestor decided to play Elrohir's game and sat down across from the Elvish Dúnedan, crossing his legs and neatly folding his hands atop them. "Well, where should I start, young master?"

"The beginning might be good." Arwen chimed in. Elrohir and Erestor looked over at her. She'd been quiet until then, and so they had assumed that she would be content to listen and be silent. But the look on her face revealed that she would do no such thing. "Whatever you said to him, Erestor," Arwen explained, directing her stare toward her father's advisor, "you may have done permanent damage to him. I can only hope that there is a good reason for your conduct thus far."

Erestor almost seemed remorseful at her admonition at first, but then he smiled warmly at her with not a hint of malice in his eyes—at least, none directed toward her. "My dear, you are absolutely right. I shall utter no malevolent word in your presence."

Both Arwen and Elrohir started at this statement. For one thing they knew this promise would surely be broken within his next breath and aside from that, his gentle treatment of Arwen, his reverence for her, it all seemed rather... disturbing. Elrohir knew exactly what it meant; he visibly shuddered at the thought of Erestor taking a fancy for his little sister, and instinctively he placed a protective arm around her. Arwen gave him a funny look, to which he privately responded to her; _do you not see the way he looks at you, sister?_

Arwen closed her thoughts to him and looked away, but Elrohir didn't need to read her to know what she was feeling. He looked back at Erestor and said, "Well, if you would please—"

Erestor's mind was elsewhere—on Arwen, more specifically—but Elrohir's deep, clear voice brought him back to the present. "What—you were saying something?"

The Half-Elf glared at him warningly, though only for a second. "We wish to know, from the beginning, what you did to Figwit... sir."

The coldness in Elrohir's voice was not missed by Erestor, and with a catty look he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Figwit, who was no longer able to stay silent.

"No!" He knelt before Erestor's feet, his eyes wide with fear. "Please, sir! Please don't tell them!"

Erestor looked down at him, disgusted yet amused at this undignified display of dread. "Why shouldn't I, Figwit? Don't you think they deserve to know?"

Figwit bowed his head in shame, and responded weakly, "I... they... they'll never—they won't—"

"Of course they won't like you! Do you assume that they _ought to_ put up with you, after hearing such scandalous things?"

"But I didn't—"

"What are you two talking about?" Arwen was getting impatient now. She glared at Erestor as she stood and went over to Figwit. "Out with your secret! Can you not see what torture you're putting him through?" She gently lifted Figwit up and led him back to the couch, despite his sobbing and his protests.

"Let me go! Please, just let me leave!" He tried to get out of the seat, but Arwen held fast to his arm.

"Figwit," Arwen reached into the flowing sleeve of her dress and produced a handkerchief, and proceeded to dry his eyes as she continued, "I promise that no matter what happens, we will not treat you harshly. We are your friends, and we don't want to see any harm come to you."

Figwit was still quite agitated, but he calmed down a bit when he saw Elrohir smile and nod in concurrence.

"May I begin?" Erestor said after a minute, and then he went on to tell them what had transpired the other night. "Now, as you may be aware, I have been at odds with your father as of late. We simply cannot come to agreement on how to handle an issue pertaining to your friend." He casually glanced at Figwit, and noted that the little Elf's eyes were still fixed on him.

"You see," he continued, "Your father and I, as well as most of the older Elves in Rivendell, know something about dear Figwit that even _he_ did not know about himself. It would seem that Figwit is related to you!"

Arwen wasn't sure what to say to that. Elrohir looked at Figwit, whose head was still bowed, and then back at Erestor. "Why should this be so upsetting to him?"

"Because," Erestor's black eyes shined in the dim glow of the firelight as he spoke these words, as he reveled in the impending upheaval, "Figwit is your half-brother."

_Tsuzuku..._


End file.
